


Catbread on the Job

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [16]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinlan goes back to work, but it's Murray's job that proves dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread on the Job

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for squicky violence. (Non-permanent injury.)  
> 

"I need to know what my wife does while I'm at work," Jim said, his expression both pleading and humble. Nick was his friend and it was embarrassing to admit these things, but at the same time, he knew he could trust them to keep it quiet if the news was bad. He didn't know that for sure about any of the other private detectives in town.

"Yeah, we can find that out for you," Nick said. "Do you know if she goes out, or do you have reason to think she stays at home?"

"I—I'm not sure. She says she stays home, but I can't see where she does anything all day. I leave for work at seven in the morning, and when I come home at four thirty, the breakfast dishes are still in the sink and the paper's still on the lawn. Half the time she doesn't even walk the damned dog and it shits all over the laundry room. I have to clean it up and then make supper if I want to eat. She says she's tired but I don't know what she _does_ all day." He stopped, suddenly realizing that he was shouting, and lowered his eyes.

"It's okay, man. We'll watch her for a couple days and see what she's up to. Probably she just sits around watching soaps, you know?"

"I wish I could believe that."

"Well, what it is you think she's doing?" Murray asked carefully. "Have you asked the neighbors if they've seen anything unusual?"

"I don't know the neighbors very well. I asked the woman across the street if she'd seen anything and she just said she didn't want to get involved. Wouldn't even tell me what that meant. I guess I'm afraid it's drugs or something, but I don't want the cops coming down on her. Not until I know for sure, at least."

"All right," Nick said, telling Murray with a look not to say anything else. "Are you going to work today?"

"Yeah. I said I had a doctor's appointment and I'd be in at nine. I didn't tell Molly anything."

"Good," Cody said briskly. "We'll check it out and let you know what comes up. Like Nick said, she's probably just watching TV."

"Okay. Should I check back with you tomorrow or wait a couple days?"

"Why don't you let us work on it and we'll give you a call when we know something?" Nick said, patting his shoulder.

"I'm not sure now if I really want to know," Jim sighed.

"You do," Nick told him. "It's hard, but it's always better to know the truth."

He walked his friend back up to his car while Cody and Murray stayed in the salon. As soon as they were gone, Murray's frozen smile collapsed and Cody laid a gentle hand on his wrist.

"You okay, Boz?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I just feel bad for Jim. He just sold Ted a car and I met his wife, when Nick took us over there. She's—well, I think I know what we're going to find."

"Really? What are you thinking, Boz? What do you know?"

"Nothing for sure. Let's just wait and see." His face was so inexpressibly sad that Cody suddenly didn't want to know, either. He didn't know Jim well, but he did like him and he didn't want to see him hurt. Or, more correctly, he didn't want to be a part of hurting him.

Cody shook his head and made himself stop thinking about it. It was just a job. Three hundred a day was three hundred a day and they needed it.

"So, how did things go with your family last night? Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, I did. We did. It was a little rough at first; Melba thought I was joking and—and she cried a little, but the lieutenant made spaghetti and I had a nice talk with Dad and it was good."

"I'm glad. I knew you were going to have trouble with Melba; she thought I was playing some kind of prank when I took them over there. I don't think she expected you to answer the door."

"Is that why you left so quick?"

"It wasn't my place to get involved." He paused. "Was it?"

"No, you're right. It was a family matter. But it was all right. We talked and I think they were kind of impressed with Ted."

"Did you actually manage to call him that?" Cody teased.

"A few times. They were looking at me kind of funny, but I'm a Bozinsky, after all. None of us are exactly normal."

"No, you sure aren't. So what brought them to town?"

"Melba's giving a presentation this afternoon and they made a little vacation of it. I'm hoping we'll get this job done soon enough that I can go, too."

"Probably. If we don't, there's always tomorrow. It was going to be a two day job at least, anyway. Is Ted going?"

"No, he won't be off work in time. I'm going to take a cab into the city and he'll come for me after. He's not worried about it; he doesn't like that sort of thing anyway."

"You and your sister are the only people I know who do."

"Yes, well, you and Nick are the only volleyball players I know. It's probably the same thing."

Cody laughed and squeezed Murray's wrist again. When Nick came back, they all had another cup of coffee, and then headed off to see what Molly Pritchard did when her husband wasn't home.

***

The Pritchards lived on a fairly busy street in a residential neighborhood. A high school in one direction and a small shopping center in the other accounted for most of the traffic, and when Cody parked down the block, the Jimmy didn't stand out. Nick hoped Molly wouldn't recognize it from the other day when they'd been there with Quinlan, but if she did, they could always say they were there to see someone else.

Around eleven, a young man walked up to the Pritchard house and knocked on the door. Molly answered and let him in. They didn't see what she'd been doing up to that point, but she didn't look like she'd been watching TV. Her hair was a little too nice, her lacy robe a little too flimsy for actual utility, her makeup too heavy to have been applied with cartoons and game shows in mind. Twenty minutes later, the young man left, and a few minutes after that, another arrived. Murray took time stamped photos of them coming and going, but when two men went in together, Cody said it was time to get a closer look. He was the only one Molly had never seen before, so he put the small camera in his jacket and walked up to the house as if he belonged there.

A quick peek in the front window told him that she wasn't in the living room or kitchen, which didn't surprise him much. He went around the side of the house to a gate that opened into the back yard and let himself through. Jim had specifically told them that the dog was inside all day, so it wasn't as bad as it could be. He edged around the house, noting that there were blinds over one window, probably the bathroom, and curtains covering two others. Peering between the curtains, he saw that one room was empty, and moved on to the other. He took several pictures there and went back to the car.

"Well, what did you see?" Nick asked him as he slid behind the wheel. Cody handed the camera back to Murray.

"She's in there. She screwed one of the guys while the other watched and then they switched places. I left while she was doing the second one."

"That's what I thought," Murray said sadly. "Not the watching thing, I didn't expect two at a time, but I thought she must be seeing someone."

"It's not just seeing somebody, Boz. It's prostitution."

"Now wait, you don't know that," Nick said. "Did you see money change hands?"

"No, but come on. We've been here two hours and she's done four different men. She's getting paid." He started the engine and pulled out, not wanting to see anymore.

"You don't know that."

"So what do you want to do, ask them? Because I'm not signing up for that."

"Well, I can't go back to Jim and tell him his wife's a whore without more proof than this."

"You don't need to say she's a whore," Murray said, thinking of Quinlan's wife. "He wants to know what she does when she's supposed to be cleaning house. I don't think it matters much whether she's getting paid or not."

"It matters," Nick and Cody said in unison. Then Nick added, "Which would make you feel worse, Murray? If your wife was giving it away, or selling it?"

"I think it'd kill me either way. But I suppose doing it for fun might be worse. Do they have money troubles, or does she have expensive habits?"

"I sure didn't see anything expensive in that house," Cody said. "If she's cheap enough, she could be doing it for cigarette and beer money. That would explain the high traffic."

"Maybe we should find out," Nick said, as if Cody hadn't already said no to that.

"Oh? And how are we supposed to do that? Go up to the door and ask if she takes walk-ins?"

Nick looked back at Murray, who shrugged.

"Yeah, why not?" Nick said.

"Well, if one of you wants to do it, be my guest. I'm not going to and that's that."

"I can't," Nick said at once. "I know her and she knows I'm not into women."

"But you used to be," Cody reminded him.

"I don't care. She knows me; it would be too awkward."

"More awkward than a total stranger?"

"Maybe Murray should do it," Nick said thoughtfully.

"What? Me? No, no way. Besides, you guys never let me do the undercover stuff."

"Yeah, but you love going undercover. And you might be right for this one," Cody said, looking more at Nick. "They've met once, so it's more believable than if it was some stranger off the street. And his nervous-ticky way could help. She'd be more likely to believe—well, no offense, Boz, but it seems a little more likely that he'd be looking for a hooker than you or me. You saw the guys going in there."

"Thanks a lot, Cody."

"I'm sorry, but he's right," Nick said. "We'll fix you up a little and come back tomorrow. You just be yourself, polite and non-threatening, and you won't have any trouble."

"Jeez, guys, I don't know."

"It'll be fine," Cody said. "But you probably don't want to tell Quinlan about it."

"Right, don't do that," Nick agreed.

"Don't worry. He'd kill me just for thinking about it," he said miserably. Then he thought of something else and his face brightened. "Quinlan was there when I met her."

"Yeah, that's right," Nick said. "But I was watching you pretty close and I didn't see you do anything that would make a person think you were more than just friends. When a guy's buying a car, a lot of times he takes his friends along. Guys bond over cars. And he never said he was a cop."

Murray remembered bonding a little over the cars he and the lieutenant saw on TV, and smiled to himself. But it faded when he saw how it encouraged Nick.

"Why were you watching us?" he asked instead.

"I wanted to see how you acted in public, I guess. If he was any different."

"Was he?" Cody asked curiously.

"Not that I could tell."

"He's only different when we're alone," Murray said quietly. "I don't think you'll ever see it."

"We saw a little of it when you were sick. He told Nick that he loved you."

"Oh? That's nice," he said, pleased that the lieutenant was admitting it to people.

"Yeah, and he called me a dimwit, too."

"Because you asked why he was there," Cody laughed. "Come on, Nick, I love you, but it was a dimwit question."

"All right, whatever. Let's get back to the matter at hand."

"I think the matter's settled. We'll take Murray home so he can go to his history thing and tomorrow we'll buy him a date."

"Won't be the first time," Nick grinned.

"Well, I'm not sleeping with this one," Murray grumbled. "In fact, what if she says yes? How will I get out of it?"

"Don't get into it," Cody said firmly. "Get your information on the porch, or in the living room at worst, and then walk away. Just hem and haw a little and say you changed your mind, okay? It'll be embarrassing, but that's not your problem."

"The things I do for two hundred dollars," Murray sighed.

***

Melba gave her presentation in a conference room at the Natural History Museum with her family in the front row. Murray was so proud of her that he missed the admiring glances cast his way by the women in the audience. He had taken his friends' fashion advice for a change and was wearing a narrow tie and a sport coat that actually fit. And though his taped glasses and shaggy hair spoiled the effect somewhat, he was still a handsome man. In a skinny sort of way, as Quinlan always said.

But Murray wasn't thinking about that. He was fascinated by Melba's research on the native peoples of Peru, where she had spent so much of the last year digging and studying, and he wished Quinlan was there to share his pride in her and his pleasure in being with his family.

At the end there was a little gathering and Quinlan _was_ there for that, having just gotten to town after work. He stuck close to Murray and was polite to the historians and scientists without having anything to say to them. But he did admire how handsome his companion was, especially after he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. And more than that, he liked how everyone seemed to know Murray or Melba or both, and spoke to them respectfully, asking their opinions and listening with knowledgeable interest. There had been a time when something like that would have left him feeling insecure and intimidated, insignificant as only a man who skipped college to go to war can feel in a room full of intellectuals. But Murray included him without talking down to him, and turned a cold shoulder to anyone who wouldn't do the same.

They stayed an hour, fulfilling Melba's obligation as keynote speaker, and then she said she was ready to go. Murray knew better; his sister could easily stay all night. But she was being kind to Quinlan, who was out of his element and also had to work tomorrow. He saw that it was for him and, while not wanting to cut short her fun, was grateful. He compromised by offering to take them to dinner and that was deemed the best idea.

Five people in the Fairmont was a tight fit, especially when four of them were as tall as the Bozinskys, but Marta sat up front and Murray folded himself into the center in back, giving his father and sister the best of the leg room. It was only for a few blocks.

Over dinner, the women talked about the conference and gossiped harmlessly about the people they knew there while Matthew strove to connect with Quinlan through cars and fishing and the little he knew about law. It wasn't until he mentioned in passing his service in Korea that the lieutenant really came to attention.

"You were in the war? What did you do?"

"I was in intelligence. Code breaking, mostly. Did you serve?"

"I was a foot soldier. Got injured after eighteen months and they sent me home. Unfortunately, I healed up well enough to go to 'Nam a few years later and get shot at some more."

"That must have been terrible."

"It wasn't fun. But that was a long time ago. Being a cop isn't that different, except it's a lot better. You get captured by the enemy, you gotta sit in a POW camp while the President decides how much your life is worth, relative to the war effort. Last time I got kidnapped, your kid here jumped out of a helicopter waving an unloaded .45 and busted me right out. Saves a hell of a lot of time and paperwork."

"Murray did that?"

"He's full of surprises. One more thing I haven't thanked him for." He only had one beer with his steak, but it was making him oddly talkative. Murray, sitting on his other side and drinking red wine, was getting downright silly. He and Melba were laughing about something some historian had said that didn't make sense to anyone without a PhD and Quinlan wasn't really listening. Just hearing his joyful laugh was enough.

"I can't get used to the idea of our little Scooter being a private detective. Carrying a gun, getting into car chases, being arrested—it's all so unlike him."

"He gets arrested a lot less since—well, since I stopped arresting him. He's a good detective, too. Smart and thorough. Those friends of his are good guys but they never would have made it this long without him. I hate to see him with a gun, though. Makes people want to shoot at him."

"Are you talking about me, Lieutenant?" Murray asked, leaning against his shoulder.

"What else are we gonna talk about?"

"Good thing no one brought baby pictures."

"Oh, Murray was the cutest baby," Marta said. "He was born tall and just kept growing. So thin, but with the cutest little chubby cheeks. I'll send you some pictures when we get home."

"I can't wait to see them," Quinlan smiled and Murray realized with a mixed feeling of pleasure and despair that he meant it.

"Any minute you're going to start calling her mom, aren't you?" he sighed.

"I'm pretty sure we're the same age, kiddo."

"Oh, no, Ted," Marta said cheerfully. "I'm sure I'm two or three years older. But whatever you call us, we're very happy to have you in the family."

For a second his face was completely blank and Murray felt just a little scared. Then he smiled, weak and shaky and not at all grim.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bozinsky. I—I'm honored."

"Marta, please," she said, and in that instant Quinlan felt like he could have called her _mom_ after all. But the moment passed and his smile strengthened.

"Marta, then. Thank you."

She picked up her wineglass, gave him a wink, and the conversation resumed.

***

Quinlan stood back while Murray said goodnight to his family and saw them into a cab. Melba wanted to show her parents some of the more harmless nightspots before they went back to the hotel, but it was a long drive back to Redondo and Murray was tired. He also suspected he'd had too much to drink, and though he hadn't embarrassed himself yet, the opportunity was still there.

He waved until he couldn't see his sister waving back and then began trying to remember where they'd left the car.

"This way, kid," Quinlan said quietly, guiding him with an arm around his waist. Murray leaned on him and followed, concentrating on picking up his feet. He was confused when they suddenly stopped walking and turned cold when he saw the two teenagers blocking their way.

"Hey, Eric, look at the homos. What's wrong with your boyfriend, old man? Fuck him so hard he can't walk?"

"Why don't you run home to your mama, little boy?" Quinlan said evenly.

"Why don't you get off our nice clean streets?"

"You call this clean? Boy, you aren't smart _or_ observant."

"Lieutenant," Murray whispered and both boys laughed.

"You make him call you that, old man? Get him on his knees and make him call you sir?"

"No, sonny, I'm a cop. And my friend here is drunk. So if you don't get the hell out of my way in the next ten seconds, two things are gonna happen. First, he's gonna throw up on you. And then I'm gonna arrest you and see to it that you spend the rest of the night in a holding cell with at least six big guys who will use your assholes for bull's eyes. So what's it gonna be?"

The two kids looked at each other and stepped aside. The car was only a few feet away and as Quinlan unlocked the door he heard their hurried debate.

"That guy ain't no cop, Eldon. Come on, we can take 'em."

"No way. You know I'm already on probation."

Quinlan dumped Murray into the front seat and turned around, pulling back his jacket to show the gun under his arm.

"Go on," he yelled back at them. "Get out of here already." They turned and ran and Murray began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asked, waiting for Murray to drag his legs into the car.

"It's ironic, that's all. I mean, you _do_ like it when I get on my knees and call you sir."

"Shut up, Bozinsky," he said and slammed the door. But he was laughing as he got behind the wheel and kissed Murray softly before starting the car.

Down the block, the two boys were watching.

"Fucking LA, man," Eldon said. "Even the cops are queers."

"So go back to Portland."

"Yeah, like they don't have 'em there, too."

By the time they got on the freeway, the cool night air on his face had sobered Murray quite a bit and he apologized for starting the trouble.

"You didn't start it, those morons did. They're gonna get their asses seriously kicked one of these days, going after strangers like that."

"Yeah, or hurt somebody. If I'd been alone I wouldn't have stood much of a chance."

"If you were alone, you wouldn't have been drunk or leaning on another guy. Besides, you have your gun, don't you?"

"I—no. I didn't bring a gun to the museum, with my family. And I wouldn't shoot a teenager anyway."

"You will to save your life, and that's an order. Besides, those kids are a couple of fucking cowards. All they saw was a skinny drunk and an old man. They were looking for a target, not a fight. You don't have to shoot people like that."

"Maybe not, but Nick taught me never to point a gun at anyone that I'm not willing to shoot. He says sometimes pulling it makes it so you _have_ to shoot, even if you weren't going to. It—it ex—exacerbates the situation."

"He's right, it does. But not with kids like that. They weren't armed so they had to back down."

"How'd you know they weren't?"

"If they had been, they'd have drawn first. I've been a cop for a long time, kid. I can read those people like you can read Dick and Jane." He reached over and laid his hand on Murray's knee. "Don't worry about it. As long as I'm with you, you don't have to carry a gun if you don't want to."

Murray squeezed his hand and leaned more into the draft from the window.

"Did you hear any of Baba's presentation?" he asked after a while.

"Just the last part. It beats the hell out of me how she can keep a whole roomful of people enthralled with some busted pottery and a couple of beads."

"Oh, that pottery was very important. It proved that the people were using decorative paint at a much earlier period than was previously thought, which means—"

"I wasn't asking, kid. Anyway, that skirt she was wearing probably had as much to do with it as anything else."

"I really hope you weren't ogling my sister, Lieutenant. She's only just decided to think of you as a brother."

"I could be her damn father," he muttered. "And I wasn't ogling, I was just admiring."

"You need to stop thinking of yourself as too old for her and start thinking of yourself as too committed to me, or it's going to start hurting my feelings. Besides, she and I are almost the same age."

"Kid, you know I am. And it's different with guys. I told you that."

"You and your double standards." He settled back in his seat and rolled the window up so only a small stream of air hit his face.

"Product of my generation," Quinlan said dryly. "So how was your meeting today? What kind of case did you get?"

"Cheating wife. We're going to take some more pictures tomorrow, draw it out a little, and then try to figure out how to tell the husband without breaking his heart."

"Poor bastard. The husband's always the last to know."

"Yeah. He's hoping it's something else, but it's not. I feel so bad for him. He's such a nice guy." Murray couldn't tell him that it was Jim Pritchard. Confidentiality didn't allow him to say more than he already had.

"I hope he's still a nice guy when you tell him his old lady's a tramp."

"Me too." He was quiet a moment, watching the freeway lights zip past, and then asked, quietly, "How did you find out about your wife?"

"Ex-wife," Quinlan said sharply. "We're not married anymore, you know."

"I know. I was just wondering how—if someone told you."

"Yeah. I was working nights and she was working the bars. One of my buddies from work told me she offered to blow him in the john for ten bucks. He said he turned her down but the guy on the next barstool took her up. When I kicked her to the curb, I found out the guys at the station had a pool on when I'd find out."

"My God."

"Yeah. It'd been turned over three times."

Murray thought about that for a moment, then lifted Quinlan's hand from his knee and kissed it softly.

"I hope I never hurt you that badly," he said after a while.

"I wouldn't worry about it. You're a good kid. Just be careful when you talk to that guy. He might not take it well."

"No, he won't. But I doubt he'll be dangerous."

"You never know. Let Nick handle it. He's better with the self-defense."

"I know. It'll be okay. They never really let me get hurt." But he was thinking about approaching that poor woman tomorrow and offering her money for sex. That was going to hurt more than getting punched in the eye ever had.

Quinlan squeezed his hand again, then released it to turn on the radio. He felt Murray's deception and didn't want to explore it too deeply. Sometimes the job called for it, just as Quinlan's job sometimes did. Murray never dug into that, so he would return the favor. And if Murray came home with a black eye or a bump on the head, well, he knew where to find the guys responsible.

***

The next morning, Cody brought Murray one of his shirts and talked him into wearing it with his nicest jeans. Casual, informal, but a little bit polished. Just the image a man wanted to project when offering a friend's wife money for sex.

"The sleeves are too short," he complained as he buttoned the shirt.

"So roll them up. Here, let me." When Murray did it, they always fell down. "Just keep your elbows bent a little. And leave it untucked so the wire won't show."

"The lieutenant's going to kill me if he finds out I did this without a gun."

"Murray, if he finds out, he's going to kill you anyway. How's he look, Nick?"

"Geeky, nervous, like he hasn't been laid since the Carter administration. In other words, perfect."

"I can't believe you two are my best friends," he sighed, strapping the small transmitter to his belly. "It makes me wonder what my enemies would say."

"Hey, you know I'm kidding," Nick said, suddenly contrite.

"No, you're not. But it's okay. I _am_ geeky and nervous." He buttoned his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and wondered if it wasn't time to get a new pair of glasses instead of putting more tape on these. "When are we going?"

"Whenever you're ready," Cody said. "You look good, Boz. Nicer than the guys who were there yesterday. That should help get you in the door."

"But not too far in," Nick reminded him. "Get her to name a price and then get out, all right?"

"Yes, I remember. Let's just get it over with. I promised Mom and Dad I'd meet them for lunch."

"All right, let's go. You don't want to keep the family waiting."

Murray locked the front door, pocketed his keys and followed them out to the car. He wanted badly not to do this, but since he'd moved out, he felt like a slacker, like he was letting his friends down. It was only fair that he do what he could for them and for the agency. So he took deep breaths, calmed himself as much as he could, and didn't object when Cody parked around the corner from the house, out of sight.

"In case someone saw us yesterday," he said when Murray asked. "It's okay. We'll be able to hear you, and we're ten seconds away if you need us."

"Yeah, all right. But you'd better be listening, because I don't want this woman touching me. She doesn't look—clean."

"I'm pretty sure she's not," Cody agreed.

"Great. Hey, what if someone's already in there?"

"I'd guess if someone is, she won't answer. If that happens, wait on the porch until he comes out, but don't say anything," Nick instructed. "Don't try to look at him or anything; he won't want to be recognized. And if he looks like he knows you, run."

"This just gets better and better. Okay, I'm going, but if she doesn't answer, I'm coming back. I don't want anyone to see me standing around on a—a prostitute's front porch. There's a school right down the street, for heaven's sake."

"All right, just get going," Nick said and Murray climbed obediently out of the car. When he was out of sight, they heard his voice over the receiver, quiet and disgruntled.

"You guys really owe me for this. When it's something really boss, you get to do it. But when it's just humiliating, that's always the perfect job for ol' Murray. I don't know what I ever did to you…"

"You think he's really upset?" Cody asked Nick guiltily.

"I doubt it. He likes to be the victim once in a while as much as anyone. We'll buy him a steak when this is over and he'll forget all about it."

"I hope so. I hate it when Boz is mad at us. And he might tell Ted."

"That's the part that worries me," Nick agreed. "We'll buy him a steak, too."

They heard the sound of Murray knocking on the door and Molly's voice inviting him in. But there was another voice as well, and when the door closed they both felt a sinking in their guts.

"Can I help you?" Molly asked. Murray swallowed hard and tried to remember his lines.

"I—my name's Murray and I…"

"Yeah, I know you. You're Nick's friend, the one that bought the car. What's up? Did you see something else you liked?"

Murray's eyes flicked to the man standing just behind and to the right of her, on Murray's left as they faced each other.

"This is Chas. Don't mind him."

"I know this guy," Chas said.

"So do I. He bought that old Fairmont of Jim's."

"Yes, well, actually, it was my friend who bought the car. I just came along. And Nick—he told me that you—well, that you might—"

"Molly, I'm telling you I know this guy."

"Chas, if you don't shut up…"

"You shut up. He's a cop or a narc or something. I seen him hanging around with that cop, Quinlan, that arrested me last year."

"Quinlan? Jesus, that's the guy who bought the car. He's a _cop_? Fuck, what is this? Are you setting me up? Are there cops outside?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, no cops. I really just wanted to—"

But Chas, who was way too tense to begin with, had already pulled a knife. Murray recognized it dimly as a rifle bayonet, like the one Quinlan brought home from Vietnam, and knew he was in deep trouble. He backed toward the door at an angle, reaching for the knob with his right hand and already knowing he wouldn't make it. Chas lunged, swift and deadly, and Murray threw his left arm up to block the knife. If it went into his torso anywhere, he was dead. But he was quick enough, just barely, and it sank into his forearm, running clear through and lodging between the bones. There was a hideous crack as Chas tried to pull it free and Murray shrieked, kicking out at him, falling and scrambling across the floor, not caring now if he won or lost, lived or died, so long as no one touched the knife again.

Then the door crashed open, Molly screamed, and he closed his eyes when he saw that his side was going to win. The next thing he knew, Cody was on the floor with him, cradling his head. He looked around, heart pounding, and saw Nick standing on Chas, one foot nearly crushing his chest, pointing a gun at Molly. Nick was saying something about an ambulance and Murray thought that was probably a good idea. Molly was reaching for the phone, so she was probably on their side for the moment. He closed his eyes again, vaguely hearing Cody telling him not to, and deciding that he didn't have to listen to them anymore. He'd already tried that today and it hadn't gone so well.

***

"Lieutenant? There's some kind of incident going down over on Evans. I think you better come."

"What is it, Sergeant? Something at the school?"

"No, it's a stabbing. Maybe domestic. The caller asked for you by name, though."

"Huh. Yeah, all right. You got a car?"

"Out front."

Quinlan got up and followed the sergeant out of his office. Just what he wanted today. A domestic stabbing involving people he knew. Probably some old drinking buddy cut up his wife and thought his friend the cop could get him out of it. He wondered why they never learned.

But coming down Eighth Street, he saw Cody's Jimmy and a cold dread settled in his stomach. Those fools must have met the husband at home to tell him about his wife. That was never a good idea. Maybe they'd only been PIs for five minutes, but that had to be lesson number one. Always do the dangerous jobs in public.

He imagined Murray had called. That made the most sense; he'd know that Quinlan would come and subdue the guy, and if his friends were hurt, he'd be needing a little support. It didn't occur to him that Murray might be the victim, because he couldn't imagine Nick or Cody being stupid enough to let that happen. But when Sergeant Markus parked in front of the house and he saw the two of them on the porch, his heart leapt into his throat and stayed there.

Quinlan got out of the car, eyes scanning the crowd for Murray's tall form and too-long hair. He was running by the time he reached the porch, shoving people aside and pulling up short when he got a good look at Cody's stricken face and bloody hands.

"Christ on a cross," he whispered. "Where is he?"

"Inside," Nick said numbly. "The ambulance just got here a second ago and they—they wouldn't let us stay."

"Is he dead?" Quinlan asked flatly. "Did you finally manage to get him killed?"

They just stared at him and he turned away, pushed his way through the door with his badge in hand, and went straight to the medics. He was determined to act as though it were just business, but when he saw Murray on the gurney, the bayonet standing up from his arm, a tourniquet tied above his elbow, the professional façade crumbled to dust.

"Jesus, kid," he said, and Murray opened his eyes.

"Lieutenant. I—I'm so sorry."

One of the paramedics looked up then and recognized him.

"Lieutenant Quinlan, do you know this guy?"

"Yeah. Okay if I ride with you? I—I'd like to get his statement."

"Sure. We're leaving right now, though. Ten minutes with a tourniquet is about all he can take."

"Then let's go." The hospital was five minutes away, even under the best conditions, and if Murray suffered nerve damage because of this, he'd have to kill some people.

They passed Nick and Cody, still on the porch, leaning against each other shoulder to shoulder, so they didn't fall down. Quinlan paused just long enough to tell them to get their asses over to the hospital and then caught up with the gurney as it was being loaded in the ambulance.

"She was a whore," Murray whispered, his eyes fixed on Quinlan's.

"Molly Pritchard? Hell, I could've told you that. If her old man didn't know, he was the only one. Was that it? He hired you to find out?"

"Yeah." Murray closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his throat clicking dryly. He reached for Quinlan with his right hand and the lieutenant took it, careful of the IV that was already running. "I was supposed to confirm that she was charging money. But that other guy was there and he—he remembered me from somewhere. Told her I was a cop, because he saw us together. Then he stabbed me. Would have—would have gotten me in the heart if I'd been just a little slower. Why'd he have to do that, Ted? It hurts so much."

"I know it does, kid," he whispered, wishing for the first time that openly gay could really mean the same as openly straight. Wishing that he could call him baby, stroke his shocky-pale face and tell him that he loved him and it was going to be all right. But he was already getting strange looks from the paramedic just for holding his hand, and Quinlan was brave enough, but he wasn't stupid.

"You're gonna be at the hospital in a minute and they'll take care of it. It won't hurt much longer, I promise."

"Hey, Lieutenant," the medic said, not knowing he was interrupting anything more important than a police statement. "I need to get this ring off before his hand swells any more. Can you take it for me? See that it doesn't get lost? I'm all out of baggies."

"Yeah, sure," he said casually, holding out his hand for the ring. But he didn't put it in his pocket. As soon as the other man looked away, Quinlan slipped it onto his little finger and tucked his hand back into Murray's.

"Nick really hurt him," Murray sighed.

"Hurt who?"

"Chas. The guy who stabbed me. I think he's hurt."

"Good," he said grimly and that did get the medic's attention. He didn't think cops were supposed to take sides.

"Will he get into trouble?"

"What, for subduing the guy who stabbed you with a fucking bayonet? No, he won't get in trouble. But there's a pretty good chance I'll wring his neck for sending you in there in the first place."

"Don't. Don't fight with them, Ted. Please. It—it's part of the job."

"You weren't even armed, were you?"

"I couldn't hide a gun in these clothes. I had a wire, though. It's—the guys have it on tape."

"A wire. Jesus. Fat lot of good that did you, huh?"

"Ted, don't be mad at them."

"Lieutenant," the medic interrupted, more urgently this time. "His heart rate's really climbing and his blood pressure's already in the basement. If you have any power to calm him down, I need you to use it. Otherwise, he's not going to make it to the hospital."

Quinlan took a deep breath and nodded. Having been given permission, he raised his left hand to Murray's forehead and caressed him tenderly.

"It's okay, kid. I'm not mad. And I won't say anything to them, okay? You were just doing your job and you got unlucky. It happens, okay? No one's in any trouble, except the whore and her friend, okay?"

"Do you mean it? You won't get into it with the guys at the hospital?"

"I won't. It's okay, Murray, I promise. We'll get that pig sticker out of you and the whole thing will be forgotten."

"My arm's broken."

"Is that true?" he asked the medic, but Murray was the one who answered.

"I heard it crack. That guy—Chas—he tried to pull it out—twisted it—fucking hurt."

"Holy hell on earth," Quinlan murmured and very nearly kissed him. For the rest of his life, he would think back on that moment and wish he had. "All right, kid, it's all right. We're almost there and it's gonna stop hurting real soon."

"Stay with me."

"They won't be able to drag me away."

That turned out to be true. Quinlan used his authority shamelessly to keep his place by Murray's side, holding his hand until the doctor needed the room and then standing out of the way where Murray could still see him. The doctor said he needed x-rays to determine how much bone damage there was before they could decide how to remove the knife, and Quinlan went with him to the lab, waiting just outside the door. Once that was done, the lieutenant was there every minute, touching him or at least in his line of sight, and Murray never took his eyes off him.

It wasn't long, though, before they sedated him and took him away to surgery, and Quinlan never had the one minute that he wanted to say and do the things he'd resisted in the ambulance. He put the rest of Murray's personal effects in his pockets and went out to the waiting room to see if he could keep his promise.

"How is he?" Cody asked, leaping up as soon as he appeared. Nick kept his seat, half defiant and half something else. Maybe afraid that Quinlan would knock him down. Well, he wanted to, but that wasn't going to help.

"His arm's broken and he's lost a lot of blood. The blade went in between the bones and cracked them both when the son of a bitch twisted it. It nicked the ulnar artery and maybe the radial, they're not sure."

"But—but he's gonna be okay, right?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Quinlan snapped. Then he remembered Murray's pleading, pain-filled eyes and forced himself to calm down. "They're going to stop the bleeding and probably put plates on the bones so they don't have to cast it. But it's too soon to know if there's going to be nerve damage or anything."

"Shit," Nick whispered. "He'd rather have a broken back than not be able to type."

"He'll be able to type. Kid could lose both arms and he'd type with his nose." He sat down next to Nick, and Cody returned to his seat on Nick's other side.

"You know, Ted, I can't help noticing that you're not killing us," Cody said, half smiling.

"I promised him I wouldn't. And when he wakes up, you ought to thank him for that."

"I will." Then the smile faded and he said, "We really screwed up, sending him in there alone. We had it all thought out to where Murray was the best choice. She knew Nick too well and me not well enough, and we never thought he'd—well, we figured he wouldn't be threatening enough to get himself hurt. If we'd had any idea, we never would have let him do it."

"Hell, I know that. You're a damned fool, Cody, but so is he. He could have said no if he'd wanted to. You didn't hold a gun to his head, did you?"

"No, but he—he was so embarrassed about the whole thing, and we kind of thought that would make her trust him."

"It should have. Anyway, I'm sorry about what I said before. About getting him killed. It's not your fault and I shouldn't have said it."

"It's okay," Nick said, not looking up. "It _is_ our fault. He didn't want to and we talked him into it."

"Well, that doesn't matter now. You get to explain it to Jim Pritchard and that's punishment enough."

"What about his wife? Is she going to be arrested?"

"Not so far as I know. Unless you managed to get some proof of prostitution. It doesn't seem like she was directly involved in the assault. Do you two have any idea why the guy stabbed him? Did you hear anything before you went in?"

"He recognized Murray," Nick said dully. "I don't think they know each other, but he said he'd seen the two of you and together and he knew you were a cop. She didn't know that when we went over there before. They thought it was a police sting and the guy freaked out. I don't have any idea why he thought killing a cop was better than getting caught in a penny ante prostitution bust."

"He's just mean. I've picked him up a couple times. He likes to fight, likes to hurt people. He's done time for it, and I don't mean in county."

"The thing I don't understand is what he was doing there," Cody said. "He wasn't acting like the guys we saw there yesterday."

"He was just getting some, like everyone else. If he acted different, it's because he _is_ different. He's an animal, and not one of the useful kinds, either. We've got all kinds of warrants on him, so if he thought Murray was a cop, he was probably just trying to get away. Or, maybe he just felt like hurting him."

"I sure hope I don't have to tell Murray's parents that," Nick sighed.

"Oh shit." Quinlan sat up straight and looked around for a clock.

"What is it?"

"He was meeting his folks for lunch. Do either of you have the number of their hotel? Maybe I can catch them before they leave."

No one had the number, but Quinlan had Murray's wallet and he picked through it quickly. Sure enough, there was a front desk business card for the hotel, with the room number written on the back in Murray's hurried script.

"It's too bad they're in town," Cody said quietly. "It's so much easier to just call them when it's all over."

"Well, we could wait for them to go home, but they might notice something's wrong when he stands them up for lunch."

"Who's going to do it?" Nick asked, feeling like he should volunteer.

"I am," Quinlan said firmly and didn't elaborate. There was a payphone in the hall and he went to it, already digging in his pocket for change. Nick and Cody couldn't hear what was said, but they guessed he'd reached someone by the length of time he spoke. When he came back, he looked even more tired than before.

"Did you get them?"

"Yeah. I talked to his dad. They're on their way."

"What did you say?" Nick asked, still concerned by the look on his face.

"What do you think I said? I told him the kid was hurt but he'd be okay."

"Did he believe you?"

"How the fuck do I know? They're coming. That's all that matters."

They sat and waited together until Murray's family appeared. Melba went straight to Nick, throwing her arms around him but not crying as they'd feared. Matthew looked to Quinlan, hoping he'd have more answers and afraid of what they'd be.

"Have you heard anything, Lieutenant? Is he all right?"

"He's still in surgery. We can go up there and wait. Someone will come and talk to you when they're finished."

"You're staying with us, aren't you?" Marta asked anxiously.

"Yes, of course. But they won't talk to me, you know. I'm not family. Come on, the elevator's this way." He held her arm while Melba clung to Nick, whispering questions all the way. Nick didn't answer.

***

They sat in the waiting room upstairs, talking quietly about everything except the fact that someone had stuck a US Army issue M7 bayonet into the gentle man they all loved, and after an hour or so the doctor came to tell them Murray was in recovery. Only his family was allowed to go to him, but Marta promised to tell him that Quinlan was there, if he was alert enough to ask.

He was.

For two hours he asked, whether he was really awake or not, sometimes crying in pain, as if the other man were a drug that could ease it, and sometimes mumbling in his sleep, until they moved him out to give the other patients some peace. As soon as he was in his room, Quinlan staked a spot beside the bed and kept it while everyone else came and went. He drifted in and out on waves of morphine, rising and falling with the tide, aware of nothing but the pain in his arm and Quinlan's hand in his.

"The pain is good, baby," Quinlan whispered when they were alone. "It means you don't have nerve damage. You're gonna be okay soon."

"It hurts," he sighed. "Do you have my glasses?"

"Yeah. But there's nothing in here you need to see right now."

"…get scared without my glasses…"

"I know you do. Go on and sleep. When you wake up, it won't hurt so bad."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Sure. Sure, I'm not going anywhere."

"What happened to Chas? Did they arrest him?"

"Uh-huh. Nick beat him pretty bad, though. He's in a guarded room upstairs. With any luck, he'll go to jail in a few days."

"He's here?" Murray asked fearfully.

"It's okay, baby. He can't get to you. Right now, he can't get out of bed. And you'll go home before he can."

"I want to go home," he said, not whining or pleading, just stating a fact.

"And I want to take you. But you need to sleep first. Get some blood in you so you're not so pale."

"'m tired, Lieutenant. Don't leave, okay? Hold my hand."

"I am. I won't go anywhere."

"Don't let go. I can't see." His voice faded out, exhausted and thin.

"I know. I won't let go." He bent and kissed Murray softly on the lips, then sat back and stroked his hand until he slept.

It was just a few minutes after that the door opened and Quinlan looked up to see Melba coming in.

"Is he sleeping?" she whispered and he nodded. "Mama and Daddy went back to the boat for supper but I wanted to stay. Is that all right?"

"He's your brother. I can't tell you to go."

"But I will if you want me to. He's my brother, but—you really love him, don't you?" She carried a chair over to the other side of the bed and sat down, touching Murray's bandaged left hand very lightly. She saw that Quinlan was no longer wearing Murray's ring. He'd put it on Murray's right hand, where it would stay so long as the left was splinted, and was holding it with both of his.

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded without dropping his eyes.

"I was so worried when he told me. I thought that if he wasn't playing a prank on me, then you were playing one on him, and he'd get his heart broken. It just didn't seem reasonable for a tough cop like you to want to be with a gentle little scientist like Murray."

"Not everything in life is reasonable. I know that's hard for you educated scientist types to understand, but some things just are what they are. He's a good kid and I—I need him. Probably even more than he needs me."

"Not tonight. Tonight he needs you. Have you had any supper? It's getting late."

"I don't want any. I'll have breakfast with him in the morning and maybe get him home in time for lunch."

"You think they'll let him go that soon?"

"I hope so. I don't want to leave him here and I have to get back to work. It's too soon to be taking time off."

"Is it better to leave him at home with no one to look after him?"

"I wouldn't do that. Nick and Cody would look after him if I couldn't. Jesus, girl, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"I didn't mean that. Of course they would. I just—I'd feel better with him in professional hands, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Melba. I didn't mean to snap at you. This whole thing's just got me on edge."

"Wow, are you apologizing to me? Signs and wonders indeed, Lieutenant."

"Murray calls me that," he said shortly. "You call me Ted."

"There, that's more like it. I think I prefer it when you snap at me, Ted. Makes things feel more normal. I mean, I'd hate to think you were mellowing with age."

He couldn't help laughing at her a little and her bright smile made him feel better. She'd definitely gotten the looks in the family, he thought. But then he turned back to Murray, focusing on his still face, and wondered how he could ever look at anyone else. Not even Melba's smile could compare to Murray's soft mouth and the crinkly laugh lines around his eyes. Even in his sleep, he was gorgeous.

"That's what love does, I guess," Quinlan whispered to himself. Melba knew she was forgotten and didn't speak again.

***

Murray was awake when everyone came back at seven. The first thing he asked was what was happening with the case.

"Well," Nick said, checking Cody's face for support, "we talked to Jim and he's really sorry. I know that doesn't mean much, it doesn't fix your arm, but he is. He paid us for the job and he's going to cover your hospital bills as part of our expenses. And, of course, he's leaving his wife."

"That poor man," Murray sighed. "What about Molly? Is she in trouble?"

"Depends on how you look at it. She lost her husband and probably most of her business, but she's not going to jail. The press is all over it, but no one's implying you were there for sex. We gave a couple short statements to the effect that we were working a case and the attack was unprovoked."

"Thank you. I guess I don't really care much about that, but it's nice. What about that guy, Chas? Will he come after me when he gets out?"

Quinlan squeezed his hand and stroked his arm absently, as if they didn't have an audience.

"He's not getting out. He'll be here until his trial, and he'll serve seven out of ten years for this, minimum. I had Markus check his record and he's never done that kind of time before. Eighteen months in the state pen is his top, and he spent a lot of that in the hole for fighting. He won't last seven years."

Murray shivered and the caressing hand moved to his face.

"Don't you worry about it, kid. Just put him away and forget it."

"Like you do."

"That's right. Testify and forget. That's all you can do."

"Can I have my glasses?"

Quinlan put them on him and Murray fixed them with his good right hand.

"When can I go home?"

"We don't know yet. Maybe tomorrow."

He seemed to think about that a minute.

"You've been here all afternoon?"

"I said I'd stay and I did."

"You should go eat, Lieutenant. You've had a long day."

"I said I'd stay."

"Yes, but you need to eat, and you should go while everyone's here. Please? It'll make me feel better."

Quinlan looked at all of the watching faces and decided not to argue. Upsetting Murray would only upset everyone else, and he'd probably still lose.

"All right, kid. If that's what you want. I won't be gone long." He kissed Murray on the forehead and stood up, still hesitating. He didn't want to go.

"We'll stay until you get back," Cody said, reading the anxiety on his face. "It's okay."

"I'll come with you," Melba said, hopping out of her seat. "I didn't have any supper, either. Come on, Ted. Take a lady to dinner."

He looked back at Murray and saw him smiling.

"She's got you, Lieutenant. You can't say no to Baba."

"I guess not. All right, sister, come on. But you're not getting any candlelight and dancing."

"Aw, Teddy, you're no fun," she pouted, but her eyes were laughing.

When they were gone, Matthew and Marta took their seats and picked up fussing where they'd left off. Murray endured it patiently, but he was sleepy and it was hard to pay attention with Nick and Cody leaning against the wall, watching him with expressions he couldn't read. He hadn't had a minute alone with them since he got out of the car at the Pritchard house and he wondered what they were thinking. If they blamed him for screwing up the job, or themselves for asking him to do it. He wondered if this was going to be the straw that broke their backs and lost him his job. It would be convenient, coming two days after he moved out.

He let his parents talk for a good fifteen minutes, then asked if he could have a little time with his friends.

"Of course," Marta said quickly. "We'll just wait outside and you can send someone for us when you're ready." She kissed him and he felt bad for sending her away. But this was important, too. His father patted his arm gently and they left.

"You getting tired, Boz?"

"A little. Cody, Nick, I'm sorry. It was such a simple job and I screwed it up."

"What?" Cody said, sure he'd misunderstood. Nick was just barely ahead of him.

"You didn't screw anything up, Murray. We're the ones who sent you into a bad situation with no weapon and shit for backup. You were right all along, we didn't need to do this. We didn't need proof she was charging. Jim wanted to know if she was screwing around and she was. We knew that yesterday."

"So—so you're not mad at me?"

"Funny, I was just going to ask you that," Cody said, half laughing. "We're the ones who need forgiveness, buddy."

"Oh. That's okay, then."

They talked a while longer, but that was the important part. They weren't angry. He hadn't messed it up.

***

Visiting hours ended at nine and everyone went home except Quinlan. The combination of his police authority and Murray's eloquent pleading was enough to get him permission to stay the night and he sat beside the bed until dawn. Murray woke often during the night, roused by pain and thirst and the demands of his bladder, and Quinlan took care of as much as he could. Only the pain was beyond his ability to handle, and each time it came up, he bullied the nurses into a swift and thorough response.

Everyone was glad to see Dr. Huntley in the morning, and he was not surprised to find Murray's beloved lieutenant back from the dead. But he pretended they had never met, that he had not released this same patient into this man's care two months ago, and prepared to do so again.

All Murray had to do was eat breakfast and swallow his meds without getting sick. Compared to getting stabbed, that wasn't hard at all.

***

Everyone hung around the house that afternoon, watching TV or reading while Murray rested in bed, and taking turns entertaining him when he was awake. Nick talked to him about the case a little, but Cody was still too upset and settled for reading to him until he slept again. Both were shocked by the ceramic cats, correctly guessing a lot about Quinlan from the neat little displays.

"Is this why you didn't let us in here yesterday?" Cody asked. It had seemed weird, Murray dressing in the front room, but of all the things they'd surmised might be hidden in the bedroom, this hadn't made the list.

"They're Ted's and he doesn't want to talk about them. Don't give him any grief, guys, please. He's had a hard enough day."

Murray's plaintive sincerity was enough to abort any jokes they might have made, and Cody exacted the same promise from Melba before letting her in.

When Murray got up for supper, he found them all gathered in the living room, discussing how the family could best arrange their schedules so they could stay and look after him. But he didn't want that, and he made his feelings as clear as he could without hurting the people he loved. Matthew had classes to prepare for before the fall semester started, Marta had her job at the library waiting, and Melba had half a dozen friends she wanted to see all over the country before returning to Peru. Murray wasn't going to be responsible for the neglect of all those things. In the end it was decided, however reluctantly, to go ahead with their plans. They trusted Quinlan to keep taking care of him, and it went without saying that Nick and Cody would be there as well. But they would be calling a lot more often to check up on him and he couldn't deny them that.

At eight o'clock, Murray took his meds and said goodnight. Quinlan went with him to the bedroom to help him undress, and while they were gone, everyone else went home.

"Busy day, huh, kid?" he said sympathetically as he unbuttoned Murray's shirt.

"Yeah. I hate that they feel like they need to stay. I mean, I love them for it, but I don't need much. All I really need is help with my clothes and I'd rather not have my mom do that."

"Are you gonna be okay if I go to work tomorrow?" He was easing the shirt off Murray's shoulders, over his splinted arm, and Murray winced a little before answering.

"I think so. The guys can take care of me all right. Cody has a waterskiing charter but Nick's going to come over and help me finish setting up my computers. We'll be okay."

Quinlan nodded, working at his belt with surprisingly nimble fingers. Murray was tired and his arm throbbed like a rotten tooth, but the feel of those hands on his fly stirred him nonetheless. Quinlan pulled the zipper down carefully, almost as if he were drawing it out on purpose, and the backs of his fingers grazed the bulge in Murray's boxers, making him shiver.

"Are you serious, kid?"

"I don't know. It just feels nice when you touch me."

"People have been touching you constantly for two days. Haven't you had enough?" he teased, sliding Murray's shorts down along with his jeans.

"I've had enough of that kind of touching. But I know you're tired; I'm tired, too, and we don't have to do anything. I just want to go to bed." He had a hard time lying down with only one arm for balance, and Quinlan helped him get settled before making his last tour of the house, locking doors and turning off lights.

When he came back, he thought that Murray was asleep and undressed silently in the dark. It wasn't until he got into bed and felt the tentative hand on his back that he realized his mistake. He turned over and laid his hand on Murray's chest, petting him gently.

"Is that the kind of touching you wanted?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. It's nice, Lieutenant. Maybe even nice enough to put me to sleep."

"Well, if this doesn't, I know what will."

"Really? You have an idea that requires zero participation on my part? Because I honestly don't think I can move right now."

"No, not zero participation. You have to be here. But you don't have to move," Quinlan said, his hand sliding down and finding Murray's erection much more advanced than the last time he checked. He fondled and teased, smiling as Murray sighed his approval.

"Okay, kid?"

"Very okay. You could even kiss me if you wanted to."

"Yeah?" Quinlan propped himself up on his elbow and kissed him, soft and slow, trembling a little as Murray's lithe hand found his stiffening cock. This was where it got tricky, jacking and being jacked without letting himself get swept away to the point where he might hurt the trusting man beneath him. He pulled away just long enough to whisper a reminder for Murray to watch his arm and Murray made a sound that was probably meant to indicate that he understood. After that it was nothing but sighs and moans and the slick slide of skin on skin. They managed to come together, and Quinlan started to get up at once. Murray caught his hand, sticky with sweat and semen, and held him back.

"I'm just going to get a towel, kid," he said softly.

"No. Use the tissues, or don't bother at all. I don't care, just stay here."

"All right. Just let go a second."

Murray released him, somewhat reluctantly, and he pulled a handful of tissues from the box, cleaning them both off quickly. Still, by the time he finished, Murray was almost asleep. Quinlan held his hand all that night.


End file.
